A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to read and review this fic. Special thanks to PhryneAndJack, whose comment about looking forward to the parlour scene at the end ensured that there was one.

"Because my worthless brother-in-law would have been the ruin of our family," Josephine Postlethwaite answered in an interview room an hour later. "Even if he didn't destroy us financially, he would have ruined our reputation. Allowing his wife to divorce him just so she could run off with his younger brother – the disgrace."

"How did you move the body?" Jack asked, seeking confirmation of Bernard's account.

"I got Bernard to help me. It was easy enough: the man's an idiot. I told him I'd poisoned William and he was already dead. When Bernard threatened to turn me in, I pointed out that as far as the police were concerned he had a far better motive for murdering William than I did – and I would have made sure that all the evidence pointed squarely at him." She sneered. "That was when he told me that Charlotte was pregnant: he hoped I'd have pity," she spat the last word as though it had left a foul taste in her mouth, "but of course all he really did was sign the little slut's death-warrant."

"So you already knew she was expecting?" Jack pounced on her words. "Then why ask me?"

Josephine's lip curled up in contempt, and Phryne answered for her. "So that you would know she knew; and so that when she framed Archie for Charlotte's murder as well you wouldn't question his motive."

"But why kill Charlotte at all? And why frame Archibald? He's your own husband!"

"He's a millstone around my neck. All that money, and does he ever allow himself to enjoy it? Or allow me to? So concerned with propriety: I can't remember the last time I had a dress that was actually fashionable. He says modern fashions are 'indecent'. Or a day at a health spa? 'Indulgent', he says, and improper, receiving beauty treatments from people I barely know. A night at the pictures instead of some dreary highbrow opera? Unthinkable. Driving by myself? Unnecessary and undignified, and why would I want to go out anyway? Doesn't he provide all I want at home? Am I not content with my husband, and my house and my children? As though a woman could want nothing more out of life than to shut herself away." She shrugged. "Besides, framing Archie was convenient. Using his sleeping pills, leaving William's blood on his dagger. And I knew he'd taken a pill last night." She frowned, showing another flash of that dangerous anger. "Except the bloody thing didn't work. As for killing Charlotte, the woman was pregnant, and regardless of her affair the child would have been considered William's. Do you really think I'd allow my own children to be supplanted as heirs by some bastard born of adultery?" Now her lips curved in a satisfied smile. "I might not have got rid of Archie, but at least that went according to plan. My boys will inherit the Postlethwaite estate, and there's nothing you can do about it."

...

"The woman is poison!" Phryne exclaimed once they were back in Jack's office with Josephine locked safely away in a cell. "I mean, I value my freedom as much as the next woman, but not enough to kill two innocent people for it, and an unborn child, and frame an innocent man for the crimes."

"She's right about her sons inheriting, though," Jack responded. "After all, their father is indeed innocent. Unpleasant, but innocent."

"I wonder what he'll do now," Phryne mused. "His wife is in gaol for murder, and the papers are going to positively devour this case."

"At least we finally have the maid's statement to corroborate Bernard's."

"Poor Hugh: if only he'd realised she was lying."

"And if only she had told the truth." Jack had been annoyed by that. The maid had insisted that she thought her mistress had a lover and had wanted to protect her reputation, but Jack privately suspected that she was almost as devious as Josephine herself and had been planning a little quiet blackmail until she realised just how dangerous such a game would be and decided to protect herself by going to Marjorie instead.

Phryne, who had been thinking along the same lines, snorted in agreement as the telephone rang.

"Robinson." Jack listened for a moment. "And?" Another pause. "I see. Well, thank you, Doctor." He hung up and answered Phryne's silent question. "That was Doctor Johnson. It appears William Postlethwaite was indeed infertile. The child Charlotte was carrying was Bernard's."

"Do you want to tell the family, or shall I?"

"I suppose I'd better," he replied, as they headed for the door into the foyer, where the surviving members of the Postlethwaite clan were waiting. "Not that it matters much at this point, but it's bound to come out at the trial. And I suppose poor Bernard ought to know."

...

"Chin up, boys," Marjorie Postlethwaite cajoled her brothers a short while later as she slipped between them and threw an arm each around their shoulders on the way out of the station. "At least we still have each other. Life goes on; you'll see." And if her tone was a little less brusque than usual, her voice just the slightest bit choked, well, who could blame her really?

"Well, Constable, that was a good day's work," Jack told Collins as he and Phryne watched them go. "Two murders solved, and not only do we have the killer in custody, but we also have witness statements and a full confession. Now, if you can do without me for the rest of the afternoon, I think Miss Fisher and I have earned a drink."

Collins watched as the two walked out of the station arm-in-arm, and frowned slightly to himself. The more time he spent with those two, the more he got the sense that he was missing something - or that perhaps they were. He just wished that he could put his finger on what exactly it might be.

...

Mr. Butler was subject to no such confusion, and upon seeing his mistress arrive with the Inspector much earlier than was usually their wont suppressed a smile and brought cocktails to the parlour before quietly withdrawing to ensure that tonight's meal would serve two.

"Do you really think Billy would have just let Charlotte go like that?" Phryne asked suddenly.

Jack regarded his glass, thinking. "Of course, I only know him from what you've told me, but based on that, I think yes, he might very well have done."

"But why?" Phryne persisted. "She was his wife: surely he would have... I don't know!"

"Locked her up? Dragged her back by her hair? Beaten her senseless?" He sighed. "I've known men do all those things, and worse. Jealousy, outrage. A conviction that ''til death do us part' should mean exactly that. And I've known women kill their husbands for the same reason." He raised his head, and his eyes locked with hers. "But that's not love, Miss Fisher. You said that William loved his wife. Love... makes sacrifices." He lowered his gaze again, to the carpet now. "Love puts the beloved first. No matter how much it hurts. If William loved Charlotte, truly loved her, then yes, I believe he would have let her go."

"Is that why you let Rosie go?"

The question surprised him. With unusual restraint, Phryne had for the most part resisted the urge to pry into that particular aspect of his life. He smiled wryly and looked at her again. "That was really more to do with how completely unpalatable I found any of the alternatives. And since she'd already decided that she'd rather be with Sidney Fletcher..." he shrugged. "I saw no reason to stand in her way."

"But you did love her, once?"

He smiled softly, sadly, for the youth he had once been, for the girl Rosie had once been, and for the love he had played no small part in killing. "Once, yes. Although it feels like a very long time ago now."

Phryne bit her lip, uncertain. Usually she felt no particular discomfort at rushing in where angels feared to tread, but Jack guarded his feelings closely, and she was suddenly very aware that she had intruded where she had no right to be. Tentatively, she reached across and laid a gentle hand on his. "I'm sorry," she murmured softly, though whether for his pain or her part in reawakening it she could not have said. He simply sat for a moment, eyes downcast, then seemed to shake himself and gave her a brief smile.

"Love is a complicated thing, Miss Fisher. Just look at Marjorie Postlethwaite. Archibald's death would have made her life immeasurably easier too, and yet she was willing to shoot Josephine to protect him. Josephine may hang for what she's done, yet she draws satisfaction from the knowledge that because of her actions her sons stand to inherit. Love is our inspiration, and our torment." He considered for a moment, searching for the right words to sum up the mysteries of love, and settled, as he so often did, on the wisdom of the Bard, knowing that Phryne would gather his meaning – both his meanings – even if he was, strictly speaking, misinterpreting somewhat. "'There's beggary in love that can be reckon'd.'"

Sure enough, she smiled at him, that warm, playful smile that told him that she did indeed know exactly what he meant. "I'll drink to that, Inspector."

"There's beggary in love that can be reckon'd": from Jack's favourite play, Antony and Cleopatra (Act 1, Scene 1). Cleopatra asks Antony, in effect, 'how much do you love me?' and Antony responds with this line, basically saying that it's a pretty poor kind of love that can be measured - i.e. I love you more than I can say. But of course 'to reckon' can also mean 'to figure out, to understand'. So Jack is playing with words: he's saying BOTH that love is a mystery AND 'I love you, Phryne.' Awwww.